


Through The Fire

by benedictcumberlongpond, WrenAndPoppy



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Envy Demons (Dragon Age), Fade Dreams, M/M, Sappy Ending, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2016-01-26
Packaged: 2018-05-16 11:03:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5826100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benedictcumberlongpond/pseuds/benedictcumberlongpond, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrenAndPoppy/pseuds/WrenAndPoppy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Contains mid-game spoilers and Dorian/Inquisitor romance.<br/>Inquisitor Maxwell Trevelyan encountered an Envy demon at Therinfal Redoubt, a demon he should have slain.  But the demon slipped away, and now months later it still stalks his dreams, studying him each night, waiting for the day it can steal his identity.  It’s growing so strong and the nightmares are growing so awful that Maxwell finally needs to ask his team for help tracking the demon down.<br/>Warnings: Bloody violence, terrible terrible things happening to adorable characters, rapey undertones, vividly described panic attacks.  Also some gay stuff.<br/>This Fanfiction was written by wrenseroticlibrary.tumblr.com</p>
            </blockquote>





	Through The Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This incredibly evocative and beautiful fanfiction was written by wrenseroticlibrary.tumblr.com who sadly does not have an AO3 account, but has a sexy and devoted fan named Poppy who offered to post her work here so that the multitudes could lather compliments upon her.  
> Now, get to lathering.

It started, as it always did, with a wisp of green mist and an uncomfortable prickle of _awareness._

At first, the dream was quiet, peaceful.  Inquisitor Maxwell Trevelyan stood alone in a grassy plain dotted with trees, wind ruffling his long dark hair and making it dance around his face.  Clouds scattered overhead, soft and white, the blue sky unmarred by rifts.  There was no sword at his hip, no shield strapped to his broad back.  No blood, no battle, no Inquisition.  

… Just lots and lots and lots of nugs.

“Gotta get them all hats,” Sera said.  Sera was standing next to him, her arms full of gilded Orlesian masks.  “Lady Ambassador says they won’t be presentable ‘less they got hats.  Silly, innit?”

Maxwell blinked at her.  He stared down at a nug that sat before him.  The creature had an Orlesian mask perched on its head, the ears poking out through the eye holes.  

“ … Maker’s breath, that is _adorable_ ,” he murmured.

Sera was shoving a mask into his hand.  “Gotta get them _all_ hats!” she insisted.  

“It _does_ make them more presentable,” Maxwell agreed.  He turned, but the nearest nugs were already hopping away through the trees.  With a feathered golden mask in hand, he chased after them.  

The trees grew thicker, darker, a comforting green shade that wrapped around him like a blanket.  The nugs had all scattered, hopping through the velvety undergrowth, ears flicking.  Maxwell rounded a tree and nearly collided with Solas.

“ _Maker’s br_ – ”  Maxwell staggered back and huffed.  “What – what are you doing here?”

Solas’s arms were crossed.  He narrowed his eyes.  “Please, continue as you were.  Pay me no mind.”

Maxwell turned the mask over in his hands.  “ … Will you help me catch a nug?  I need to give them hats.”

Solas stared at him for a long time.  “ … No.”

Maxwell shrugged.  He brushed past Solas and continued to race through the trees.

A nug scampered ahead of him, pink and bouncing between the ferns.  A steep cliff of towering mossy rock loomed ahead, damp and sweet-smelling, and the nug skidded to a stop.

Panting, Maxwell lifted the gilded mask.  “All right, little guy, come get your hat.”

The nug turned, bowed dramatically in defeat, and hopped towards him.  Maxwell knelt down with a chuckle, reaching out to pat the creature’s naked little head.

A wisp of green mist curled around his hand.

The nug lifted its head to look at him with beady eyes that had gone pale.  Its naked little face split open and peeled back to reveal a ring of gnawing slimy teeth that lunged like a striking snake.

Maxwell jolted away with a shout, falling over backwards onto cold stone.  The teeth chittered, the nug’s tiny body mushrooming into the bony, bleached angles of a deepstalker as it leaped onto him.  Circular jaws gnashed at Maxwell as he scrambled backwards, kicking.  No sword at his hip.  No shield strapped to his broad back.  Maxwell clenched his fist and threw a punch at the beast’s open, snarling face.  His knuckles collided with a crunch against bone and knotted flesh.

The deepstalker hissed and leaped off him, skittering away into the shadow.  Maxwell scrambled to his feet, his heart hammering.  The air had gone chill and dark and _deep,_ the warm forest gone.  The walls were damp and pale, lumpy with calciferous residue, the ceiling too distant to make out in the gloom.  Maxwell swallowed hard.  There was no exit from the chamber.

In the shadows, Maxwell could see the dim glow of the deepstalker’s eyes, circling him.  He could hear the wet slap of webbed feet hitting stone, hear hissing in the damp darkness.  Maxwell’s knuckles whitened on the gilded Orlesian mask that was still clutched in his hand.

The bobbing pair of eyes fell still for a moment, then the beast lunged out of the darkness.  Maxwell lashed out with the gilded mask like a knife, slicing the sharp edge across the beast’s face.  It shrieked, staggering back and tossing its head.  Maxwell stepped close and slashed again, opening a deep cut across the creature’s long, pale neck.  This time the deepstalker toppled to the cold ground in a tangle of spasming limbs and a growing pool of dark blood.

Maxwell staggered back.  On the floor, the deepstalker twitched one more time and let out a final rattle, falling still.

**“HeH hEH heH hEh heH.  CLevER cLeVEr, inQuiSItoR.”**

Maxwell spun around, breathing hard, blood dripping from the golden mask in his hand.  Asleep or awake, he knew that voice.  It had haunted him every night since Therinfal Redoubt.  

Standing in the darkness, giving him a soft smile, was Josephine.  She cocked her head sweetly.  

**“ShaLL I bE thAT CLeVeR whEn I aM YoU?”**

Maxwell took a step back from the not-Josephine that stood before him.  He swallowed.  “You haven’t taken me yet, Envy.  What makes you think you’ll be successful tonight?”

Josephine’s eyes darkened.  Step by slow step, she approached, her expensive shoes clicking on the cold stone.  The dim, dim light of the cavern caught in her gold jewelry, the ruffles on her clothes.  Maxwell backed away from her, still holding the bloody mask.

“You handled yourself splendidly,” Josephine praised, her voice soft and familiar, the one Maxwell remembered.  She lifted two fingers delicately, brushing them over her lips, teasing the soft skin.  “Don’t be so frightened.  It is only me.”

Maxwell’s back bumped against the cold, lumpy wall.  He was squeezing the mask so hard that the smooth gold was warming in his hand.  He didn’t think he could truly die in these dreams that Envy invaded, but the demon always tried.  And he always made it _hurt._

“Shall I reward you for saving me from that horrifying monster?” Josephine offered.  She brushed her thumb over her lips again.  “I can think of a suitable reward.”

Maxwell’s jaw tensed.  “You’re not fooling me, Envy.”

Josephine’s smile twitched.  She lunged forward as sharply as the deepstalker had, pinning Maxwell hard against the wall by his neck.  Maxwell choked, grabbing her narrow wrist and trying to pry it off, but her grip was like steel, firm enough to bruise.

“It’s only me, Inquisitor.  But soON I **aM goInG tO Be YoU.”**

Her slim fingers dug into Maxwell’s neck painfully, the pristine nails nearly breaking his skin.  He couldn’t breathe.  He slammed his knee up into Josephine’s gut.  She took the blow with a gasp and another laugh.

 **“WriGgLE anD sQuiRM mY WaY iNSidE!”** Josephine dragged her tongue over her lips.   **“EaCh NigHt I pUSh a liTtLe deEpER inTo tHaT pReTty hEAd oF yOuRS!”**

Maxwell shut his eyes and slashed the sharp golden edge of the mask across Josephine’s throat.  He could feel the resistance of meat ripping and slicing, feel the spray of wetness against his chest, and he cringed.  But she just _laughed_ , a wet, bloody noise.  

 **“TrY To hiDE, InQUisitOR, trY tO RUn, TRy to FigHt Me.”** Josephine squeezed harder, and Maxwell’s eyes snapped open.  Blood poured down Josephine’s neck from a dark gash, soaking into her golden clothes.  She leaned in until her lips were nearly brushing his, and he could taste the death on them. **“I wiLL hAve YoU.”**

Maxwell opened his eyes with a gasp and bolted upright in his bed.  He stared across the expansive stone room with blank eyes, breathing hard.  A cold sweat made the sheets stick to his body.  Through the windows, he could see that the sky outside was barely starting to brighten.  Not yet dawn.  

Shaking, Maxwell rubbed a hand over his face, over the dark hair that had been tossed into his eyes, over the rough scrape of yesterday’s stubble.

“M-Maker… ”

The dreams were getting worse.  He was going to have to tell someone about it soon.  Each time, Envy felt stronger, sharper.  At first, Maxwell had hoped that they were just nightmares – after what he saw at Therinfal Redoubt, how could he _not_ have nightmares? – but he couldn’t cling to that hope anymore.  

This was real.  Somehow, Envy was tracking him through the Fade and stalking his dreams.  And the demon still planned to replace him and tear down the Inquisition from the inside out, starting with those closest to him.

Maxwell threw the sheets off.  Sleep clung to his limbs, but he was too shaken to succumb to it again.  Wearily, he pulled himself out of bed and began to dress.

—-

Maxwell was still yawning when he plodded down the stairs into the main hall and nearly collided with Solas.

“O-oh – ”  He staggered back as the elf stared at him.  “Um.  My apologies.  Good morning.”

Solas’ eyes were narrowed in a look of suspicion that felt uncomfortably familiar.  “Is it truly a good morning for you, Inquisitor?  You don’t look well rested.”

Maxwell’s broad shoulders slumped.  He rubbed a hand over his eyes.  “Am I that obvious?”

Solas cocked his head.  “Troubled by dreams, perhaps?”

 _My dreams are my own, mage._ The words nearly tumbled from Maxwell’s lips before he fought them down.  Solas may be an apostate, may be running around unchecked and totally capable of setting fires with his mind if the whim struck him… but he was also an ally, and Maxwell ought to treat him as such.  Allies meant trust, no matter how good they were at setting fires with their minds.

Besides, Solas of all people might know how to deal with Envy.

“ … I really should speak with you about that.”  Maxwell looked around, but the grand hall was empty.  Too early in the morning for the usual bustle.  He wandered to the nearest empty feast table, beckoning for Solas to follow, and sat down.  “It’s about what happened at Therinfal Redoubt.  After the envy demon escaped us.”

Solas nodded.  “He is following your dreams.”

Maxwell blinked.  “You’re… very perceptive.”

“Not wrong, but that is not how I know.”  Solas steepled his fingers.  “Forgive the intrusion, Inquisitor.  Your sleep has been troubled for quite some time, and I thought it best if I take a look for myself.”

Maxwell stiffened.  It wasn’t the first time Solas had done this, and it didn’t sit well with him to have a mage poking around his mind.  Damn it, this was why people got squirmy around casters.

 _Trust.  Allies mean trust, even mages._ Maxwell tried to force the tension down.  Maybe, since Solas had witnessed his dream, the elf would be able to help.  All Solas wanted to do was help, Maxwell reminded himself.

“Then… ”  He let out a tense breath.  “You saw.”

The stern lines of Solas’ face softened for a moment.  “ … It was not her,” he said gently.  “You lashed out at danger, not Josephine.  Do not let it trouble you.”

Maxwell swallowed and dropped his gaze.  “ … Thank you for saying that.”  He lifted his tired eyes.  “It’s really him?  Envy?”

“I fear it is.  It was denied your identity at Therinfal Redoubt.  What Envy cannot have, it thirsts for all the more.  I believe it has become quite obsessed with you.”

“What can we do?  He’s… he’s learning more about me each time I sleep.”

Solas rapped his fingers against the wood table.  “I am uncertain, but perhaps there is a way to summon the demon, and kill it properly this time.  If the demon is dead, it can no longer haunt you.”  He stood up, his chair scraping against the stone floor.  “I will speak to Leliana, and she will speak to her agents.  If there is information on this demon, we will have it.”

Some of the tension melted from Maxwell’s back.  “Thank you, Solas.”

Solas gave him a brisk nod.  A horrible thought occurred to Maxwell suddenly and he stiffened.

“ … Solas?”

“Yes, Inquisitor?”

“Were you present for my _entire_ dream?”

Solas frowned.  He waited in silence until Maxwell squirmed in his chair.

“The part with… the… um… ”  Maxwell coughed into his hand, turning his red face away.  “ … Nugs?”

Solas raised an eyebrow.  “The nugs that needed hats?”

Maxwell groaned into his hands.  “ … I would appreciate if you never spoke of that to anyone.”

“Gladly.”  Solas turned on his heel and strode away.  “Get yourself some tea and breakfast, Inquisitor.  Try not to accessorize any small animals on your way there.”

Maxwell groaned louder.

—-

A small cup of tea was all Maxwell could manage.  When he visited the kitchens,  a friendly cook tried to shove a massive plate of bread and fried meat into his hands, but the sight of the meat triggered an uncomfortable memory of _mask slicing through neck_ , and he had turned the food away.

Now, as Maxwell stood alone before the war table, yawning over his tea, his stomach rumbled.  But at least it wasn’t trying to empty itself all over the intricately detailed map.

The tiny ink castle that marked Therinfal Redoubt sat innocently in the golden glow of the morning sun.  Maxwell stared the drawing down as if he could will answers from it.

Was Envy in the Fade right now, somehow following his dreams?  Or did the demon still exist physically?  Had Envy caught Maxwell’s scent like a wolf, tracking him through the metaphysical fabric of all those weird things Solas was always going on about?  Maxwell took a sip of tea.  The ink castle provided no answers.

The door creaked open.  Maxwell breathed in the steam from his tea without turning.

“Oh – Inquisitor, you’re supposed to be getting breakfast.”

The voice brought a twist to his stomach.  Maxwell turned as Josephine closed the massive wooden door.  Her smile made him queasy.

“A-already ate,” he lied cheerfully, lifting his cup of tea as if it were proof.

Josephine crossed the room to the table, her expensive shoes clicking on the cold stone.  “I encountered Solas on my way here.  He has updated me on the situation with Envy.”

Maxwell’s thin smile wavered and died.

“If you must be pursued by a demon, you are in good company for fighting back,” Josephine encouraged.  She stepped neatly around the war table, examining the shiny metal markers and scribbling on her note board.  “I have connections to scholars of the Fade who may know something about this particular kind of demon, and I am sure Leliana will take it upon herself to retrieve any information that may be hidden.”  Josephine sighed.  “Or confidential.  Or reluctant.”  She gestured dismissively.  “Regardless, our people are on it.  I only wish you had told us sooner.”

Maxwell stared into his tea, watching wisps of steam rise.  “I didn’t want to believe it could really be him.”

Josephine’s expression softened.  She lowered her quill from her notes.  “Inquisitor, please get some rest and let us handle these affairs for a while.  You have been worn too thin of late.”

 _I don’t want to sleep._ Instead of saying the words, Maxwell just nodded into his tea.

—-

Skyhold was more than simply a castle perched atop a peak.  It had chambers that went down into the guts of the mountain itself.

Maxwell had made a habit of wandering the castle’s twisting hallways when he needed to fill the nights that wouldn’t let him sleep.  He’d discovered chambers so ancient that just crossing the floors kicked up clouds of dust.  And somewhere in that twisting maze was an old, old library.  It had almost as many cobwebs as books.

Max sat with his cup of tea in a creaky leather armchair, reading by candlelight as he flipped through a book titled _Demons and their Desires: a Study of Demonic Motivation._ He’d learned some interesting trivia about pride demons and had a new idea for fighting despair demons, but he couldn’t even find a mention of an envy demon.

The tea wasn’t enough to keep his eyelids from drooping.  It didn’t help that the author of the book, against all odds, had managed to make the writing dull.  Maxwell yawned and set the cup down, turning the page.  The words were starting to blur together.

Maxwell leaned his cheek into the armchair and closed his eyes.

—-

His room was warm, a crisp night breeze wafting through the windows, not enough to dispel the coziness of his fireplace.  Maxwell stood at the window and stared up at the night sky, almost at peace until he saw a wisp of green smoke dance across the stars.

“Inquisitor.”

Maxwell tensed.  He turned around.  Leliana stood in his room, her hands clasped behind her back, her warm eyes not quite shadowed by the hood she wore.

“I was hoping we might… speak.”

Maxwell’s eyes darted back to the sky.  The green mist was gone, but he knew he had seen it.  An itch had crept under his skin, a cold certainty that none of this was _real._

Leliana was stepping closer to him, crossing the distance between them.  Maxwell swallowed, watching her step near to him, already tense.

“Inquisitor, I… I must make a confession.”  Leliana’s body was so close, he could feel her heat, see the shine on her lips.  “I’ve had… feelings for you, feelings I can’t deny any more – ”

Maxwell swallowed.  “Stop it, Envy.”

 **“HaVe a LiTtle FuN, InQuisITor.  It’S oNly a DreAm.”** Leliana grabbed his belt, yanking him close.  She breathed against his lips. **“LeT Me kNOw YoU.”**

Maxwell shoved her away, staggering back and breathing hard.

 **“No?”** Leliana shimmered, and suddenly it was Cullen standing in Maxwell’s chamber.   **“PerHapS yOU PreFEr tHis fACe?”**

Maxwell hesitated, his anger dimming for a moment.  Cullen nipped his lip shyly, shuffling his feet before taking a cautious step closer.  Maxwell didn’t move as the man approached.

“Inquisitor, I… I must make a confession.”  Cullen’s body was so close, Maxwell could feel his heat, see the shine on his lips.  “I’ve had… feelings for you, feelings I can’t deny any more – ”

“C-Cullen does not favor men,” Maxwell stammered.

Cullen’s hand slipped around the back of Maxwell’s head.  Maxwell’s breath caught, his eyes locked on the man’s lips.  Soft and warm…  Cullen leaned in, brushing his lips against Maxwell’s ear.

**“BuT yOU dO, iT seEms.”**

The voice crawled into his ear like an insect, and Maxwell shoved Cullen off with a panicked curse.  Cullen’s laughter was sick and rattling and it kept spilling out of him long after it should have stopped.

**“I’m gOinG to BeEEEeeEeE yOu!”**

“Sh-shut up!”

 **“PieCe by piEcE bY PiEce, InQuisITor!”** Cullen grinned like a wolf, his tongue hanging out in hunger. **“I’M sTeaLInG YoU!”**

Maxwell nearly fell off the armchair as he awoke with a shout.  The book on his lap tumbled to the floor, and he gripped the arms of the chair for support as he caught his breath.

“ … A wee bit dramatic,” criticized a voice.

Maxwell looked up.  Dorian stood in the library’s doorway, holding a lit candlestick in one hand and a tray with a full tea set in the other.

Maxwell swallowed, ruffling a hand through his thick hair to hide the flush on his face.  As if the dream with Cullen hadn’t flustered him enough.  “Wh-what are you doing down here?”

“What am _I_ doing down here?”  Dorian crossed the room in a few long strides, placing the tea set on the massive desk that filled most of the small library.  “I am looking for a certain missing Inquisitor who has been known to hide himself in libraries when he’s supposed to be sleeping.  What are _you_ doing here?”

Maxwell pouted.  He picked up the iron teapot and poured dark, steaming liquid into one of the cups.  His own tea had gone cold.  “Looking for answers, I suppose.”  He lifted the cup to his lips, took a sip, and winced at the flavor.  “This is _not_ tea.”

“Coffee,” Dorian informed him, sitting on the desk next to the tea tray.  He poured himself a cup.  “Josephine keeps barrels of the stuff.  Delightful for those nights when you need to defy your body’s mortal need for rest.”  Dorian blew steam off his cup.  “I thought you might want something stronger than tea.  Josephine told me about our friend Envy and the games he’s been playing.”

Maxwell let out a displeased sigh.  “I suppose _everyone_ knows by now?”

“The team is on it.  Hard to be ‘on it’ without knowing about it.”  Dorian took a sip of coffee.  “How is the research going?”

Maxwell sighed again.  He leaned down and picked up _Demons and their Desires._ “Not well.”

“Then perhaps what you need is a study buddy.”  Dorian gestured to the pot of coffee with a smile.  “There’s plenty more where that came from.”

Despite his exhaustion, Maxwell smiled.  “Dorian, you’re perfect.”

“Don’t I know it.”  Dorian set his cup down and strode towards the book shelves.  “Let’s see now, demons demons demons… ”

Maxwell smiled into his drink as he watched the man bustle about the shelves.   Dorian’s presence brightened his mind more than the coffee could.  Seeing the man always brought a glow of warmth to Maxwell’s chest, a giddy fluttering to his heart.  He didn’t quite want to admit that he was crushing on Dorian worse than he’d ever crushed on Cullen.

Staving off inevitable nightmares and struggling through dull, ancient tomes for lost information?  That wasn’t Maxwell’s idea of a good time.  But with Dorian helping, it might be… bearable.  Maxwell hugged his coffee to his chest as he watched Dorian triumphantly select a book.Maybe more than bearable.

“Aaaaah, _An Encyclopedia of Spirits and their Ilk,_ that’s more like it.”  Dorian held the book open in one hand and skimmed through it as he sauntered back to the desk.  “Got to be something in here about – Fasta Vass, Inquisitor, it’s bloody gloomy in here.”

Without looking up from the book or breaking his stride, Dorian lifted his hand and flicked a series of sparks at the massive candles that lined the walls.  Maxwell flinched and went pale as the candles all bloomed into life, a neat flame dancing on each wick.  Dorian didn’t seem to notice, reclaiming his seat on top of the desk as he read.

“Encouragement, endurance, enlargement – _enlargement_?”  Dorian scoffed at the book.  “There is an actual spirit of _enlargement_?  Goodness.”

Maxwell swallowed, tearing his eyes away from the dancing candle flames.  His heart was hammering worse than it had in his dream.   _It’s just Dorian.  He’s safe._ He opened his own book with shaking hands, trying to focus on the words.

Mages.  They always put his teeth on edge.  Cullen would have been easy to flirt with, but Maxwell didn’t know how to approach a _mage._ He didn’t even know how to feel about being interested in one.

“Did you know that there is a spirit of ennui?”  Dorian snorted.  “Dreadful things.  Don’t last very long, seeing as they embody a lack of desire to go on existing.”

Maxwell forced a smile that nearly cracked on his face.  He hid the disaster in his cup of coffee as he took a long, long sip.

The candles flickered, and Maxwell forced himself not to look at them.

—-

The day was long and sunny.  But the setting of the sun brought darkness and dreams.

The first thing Maxwell registered was green mist curling through Cullen’s teeth as the man smiled.

The derelict cabin was empty.  A golden haze of sunset and pollen drifted through the windows, carrying the crisp smell of the Hinterlands.  The floorboards creaked as Maxwell backed away from that smile.

“I was hoping I would get you alone,” Cullen teased.  His voice was shy and hopeful.

Maxwell clenched his fists until the knuckles cracked and his arms bulged.  “Don’t try it, Envy.”

“But this is who you like _._ ”  Cullen stepped closer, and Maxwell raised his fists warningly.  “You wanted him last night.  You enjoyed it.”

“I told you, Cullen does not favor men.”  Maxwell stepped to the side so he wouldn’t be cornered against a wall, still backing away.  “It was a crush, and it’s gone.  You’ll gain nothing from this.”

Cullen’s smile twisted into a hateful sneer.  His armored gauntlet flashed out and locked around Maxwell’s throat.

**“WhaT tHeN?  WHaT maKEs yOUr bLOoD pUmP, MaKEs yoUR fLEsH tiNgLe?”**

Maxwell slammed his arm into the inside of Cullen’s elbow, trying to break the choke.  Cullen just snarled and threw him to the ground, hard enough to knock the wind from him.  Maxwell barely had time to gasp for air before Cullen was on top of him, a heavy weight that pinned him down.

**“TelL Me TeLL mE tELl mE tELL Me!”**

Maxwell grunted as he grappled with the man, trying to throw him off.  He cursed as his wrists were pinned to the floor.

“I’ll kill you when I find you!” he swore.

Cullen’s face shimmered and was suddenly replaced by Krem’s cocky smile.   **“HoW aBoUT thiS FaCe iNSteAD?  Do yOu pREfeR MeRCenaRiES To TeMpLArs?”**

Maxwell wrenched at the powerful arms that pinned him down.  “Get _off_ me!”

Krem frowned.  There was another shimmer, and suddenly Bull was the one pinning Maxwell down.   **“QuNAri?”**

Shimmer, Solas’s face.   **“ELvEs?”**

Shimmer, Varric’s face.   **“DWarVEs?”**

Shimmer, Dorian’s face.   **“MagES?”**

Maxwell’s struggles faltered.  For a split second, he just stared up at Dorian’s face, panting.

Dorian’s face broke into a familiar smile.   **“InTEreSTiNg.”**

Maxwell’s snarl was back in an instant, his body twisting as fruitlessly as ever under the demon’s.  “Sh-shut up!”

Dorian’s chuckle felt too familiar and too real.  “Oh do tell me, am I the only mage you fancy, or does our noble Inquisitor have a fetish?”  Dorian cocked an eyebrow.  “Naughty naughty, Inquisitor.”

“N-no, it’s just – ”  Maxwell shut his mouth, swallowing.

Dorian tsked.  He leaned down until he was almost breathing on Maxwell’s lips.  “Just me, then?” he whispered.

Maxwell twisted his face away.  “Y-you’re not him!”

“Oh, pretend with me, Inquisitor.”  Dorian leaned close to Maxwell’s ear.   **“LeT mE KNoW yOu.”**

“Inquisitor?”

Maxwell bolted upright, his chest heaving.  As his vision swam into focus, the first thing he registered was a low stone ceiling, the glow of many tiny candles, and the scowling face of Cassandra.

“You really need to stop finding creative places to fall asleep,” she scolded, arms crossed.  “We have beds for a reason.”

Maxwell rubbed the back of his sore head.  He was lying on the lushly carpeted floor of a Chantry shrine, curled up beneath the spread stone hands of Andraste.

“ … Nightmares,” he mumbled.  He rubbed a hand over his eyes.  “I couldn’t sleep.  I guess it was foolish to hope that Andraste’s gaze could keep demons away.”

“Not the demons of a sore neck and a poor night of sleep, that is for certain,” Cassandra scoffed.  She extended a hand.  “Really, Inquistior.  Beds.  Use them.”

Maxwell accepted the offered hand and let Cassandra pull him to his feet.  He groaned as his sore legs accepted the weight of his body, his spine stiff.

“All right,” he grumbled, “you win.  I’ll sleep in a bed next time.”  Maxwell arched his back with a grunt and cracked his neck, letting out a huff.  “Any news?”

Cassandra’s face was stone.  “You should go to the war room.  You’ll want to hear this from Leliana herself.”

—-

A tiny metal pyramid perched atop the ink-painted vellum that represented the far western deserts of Orlais.  Maxwell watched the marker shimmer in the dappled sun that fell across the map, his arms crossed over his chest.  His war council was gathered around the map as well, and Cullen’s armored finger pointed at the pyramid.

“It’s remote, but we found it.  There’s an ancient shrine dedicated to a demon of envy, and Leliana’s magical experts think we can summon him from there.”

Josephine was scratching on her notepad.  “Luckily for us, we already have an artifact which should assist.  In your last encounter with the envy demon at Therinfal Redoubt, you wounded him before he escaped.”  She glanced up at Maxwell.  “When you go to the shrine, bring the same sword that you used in that battle.  Solas believes that this will ensure a summoning of the _correct_ envy demon.”

“And if we summon an _incorrect_ envy demon?” Cullen asked, frowning.

Leliana’s eyes narrowed as she regarded the map.  “I’m afraid you’ll have to cut through it and summon another.”  Her eyes flicked up, locking onto the Inquisitor.  “My experts are certain: this shrine will allow you to summon any spirit that embodies envy.  Solas believes that your memories combined with the blade will summon the correct one, but if not, you will have to keep summoning and keep killing.”

“Let us hope it does not come to that,” Josephine pressed.  

“Solas leads me to believe that envy demons are rare.”  Leliana smiled.  “At least you won’t have too many to go through.”

Cullen scowled.  “Very funny.”

Maxwell fought down a yawn.  Despite a strong cup of Josephine’s coffee, his limbs felt stiff and weary.  “The shrine is far away.  It will take several days to travel such a distance.”   _Several nights._

“It will,” Leliana confirmed.  “Are you prepared, Inquisitor?”

Maxwell nodded.  The thought of green, twisting mist helped keep his eyes open.  “This is top priority.  If Envy learns to mimic me, he might attempt to replace me.  The entire Inquisition would be compromised.”  He pulled his gaze away from the tiny metal pyramid, regarding his war council.  “I’ll gather my personal party and leave at once.”

—-

The cold drove needles into his skin.

Maxwell’s breath steamed in the air around his face.  He hugged his shivering arms to his chest, the deep snow tugging at his feet with each labored step.  The wind was so fierce that it burned his face, but even when he was able to squint his eyes open, he couldn’t see more than ten paces ahead through the swirling snow.

Another step.  Another step.  His legs ached as he dragged them through the snow.  Another step.  The one thing he couldn’t afford to do was stop.

A shape loomed behind the swirling the cold grey.  Maxwell clenched his chattering teeth and plowed onwards.  Through the endless stinging snow, he could see the crumbling stone blocks of a ruined tower, hollow and open to the wind above, but sheltered below.  The thought of shelter drove new strength into Maxwell’s sore legs, and he dragged himself through the ice towards the ruin.

A crust had formed on top of the snow that nearly cut through his clothes as he struggled towards the tower.  It felt like an age before he reached the stone walls and staggered through the doorway.

The inside of the tower was cramped and chill, cold and shadowy, but the roof was just intact enough to keep out the worst of the snow.  And in the center of the stone floor…

“M-maker’s breath – ”  The words scraped out of Maxwell’s throat as he stumbled to the center of the room and fell to his knees before the small fire pit.  Underneath the ash and crumbled logs, a handful of orange embers glowed.  Maxwell reached his numb hands towards the coals.  Before he could feel the first kiss of heat, a supple leather boot stepped out of the darkness and pressed down on the embers.  The life and the heat hissed out of them in a curl of sickly green mist.

Maxwell flinched back, his eyes drawn up.  Leliana stared down at him.  She ground her boot down, crushing the last of the coals.

“Feeling cold, Inquisitor?”

Another shiver rippled through Maxwell’s body.  He pulled his hands back, hugging them against his chest.  “J-just as well you showed up, Envy.  I w-wasn’t enjoying this dream anyway.”

Leliana smirked.  She delicately dragged her foot out of the firepit, leaving the ashes dead and cold.  “The aftermath of Haven still haunts you, does it not?  All alone in the cold for so long.  You almost died out there.”

Maxwell pulled himself to his feet, shivering.  “But I didn’t.  Haven is in my past.  It can’t hurt me anymore.”

Leliana hummed and flicked her hand.  The stone walls rumbled and closed around them like a set of jaws, shutting out the cold outside.  Leliana approached Maxwell with her hands clasped behind her back, her boot leaving ash footprints on the bare floor.

“Oh, but plenty of things can still hurt you, dear Inquisitor.”

Her hand flicked again.  Cold steel clicked shut around Maxwell’s wrists, yanking him against the wall with a thud.  He grunted at the impact.

“Maybe it’s not the cold you fear, but the sharp.”  Leliana smiled sweetly.  “The hot slash of an enemy’s weapon is easy enough to withstand, but what of the slow slice when you cannot move to defend yourself?”

Maxwell let out a breath.  “So tonight’s special is torture?  Not very creative, Envy.”

Leliana slipped a thin knife out of her cloak.  She kissed the blade.  “Shall we begin?”

“Go on.  Do it.”  Maxwell met her eyes calmly.  “The pain will wake me up, and you’ll get no more information about me tonight.  I’ll gladly have this dream end early.”

Leliana’s smile faded.  Her wrist flicked, and the knife whipped through the air and lodged itself between two stone bricks next to Maxwell’s head.

 **“I wiLL LEaRn pLEnTy aBoUT yOu tONigHt, InQUiSitoR.”** She strode towards him and grabbed his chin roughly.   **“Got To gEt iT RigHT, neEd to kNOW yOu.  I neED tO kNow yoUR tHiRSts, yOUr neeEEeEeeDs, yOUr FEar fEAr feAR.  WhaT’s yoUr TWisTiNg wrigGLiNg FeaR?  WhAt maKEs yOU cuRL Up iN a baLL anD sCreeEEeEeeeEeeeaM?”**

Maxwell snarled, trying to twist his face away from her hand.  “Try harder!”

Leliana’s sneer faded.  She pursed her full lips thoughtfully.   **“Oh.  YOu doN’t caRE aBouT PAin.  PaiN iS a cLEan, EAsy eNEmy, iT oNLy MaKEs yOu FigHT haRDeR.  GoOd to KnoW, gOoD tO kNOw.  BuT noT aLL pAin iS toRTurE.”** Leliana slipped her hand off his face and gave his cheek a light slap.   **“ShaLL wE tRy soMEthiNg eLSe?”**

“Do whatever you please,” Maxwell snorted.  “Just make up your mind.  This is only slightly better than the nightmare about the snow.”

Leliana’s face shimmered, melted, and coalesced into Dorian’s face, set in a dismissive sneer.   **“MaYBe YoU fEAr rEjeCTiON.”**

In spite of himself, Maxwell pursed his eyebrows.  “ … Are you serious?”

 **“Do yOu rEaLLy tHinK hE WAnTs yOu, InqUiSitoR?”** Dorian leaned close, his face mere inches away. **“Do yOU tHinK aNy mAge CoULd waNt soMEoNe LiKe yoU?  YoU, tHat DeSpERatE KiD WhO wAnTEd sO baDLy To bE a TeMpLAr, to KEep MaGEs iN toWEriNg priSoNS, bUt wERe nEVeR gOoD eNOugH?”**

“I won’t know unless I ask him,” Maxwell huffed.  “ … _If_ I ask him.  Seriously, does this one work on people?”

Dorian snorted, a tongue of orange flame curling from his nostrils.  Maxwell flinched as the fire nearly touched his lips.  The scowl on Dorian’s face twisted into a smile.

**“ … Don’T LiKe fiRe, iNqUisiTOr?”**

Maxwell tried to discipline his face into a stern glare.  But when Dorian lifted his hand and flicked his fingers, filling his palm with a crackling ball of flame, Maxwell turned his face away with a breathless curse.

Dorian’s eyes lit up. **“THisSSssSsS iS ThE OnE!  ThiS iS wHaT briNgs oUt thAT teRriFieD liTtLE cHild iN yOUr hEad!”**

The fire in Dorian’s hand exploded into a blaze that scorched the air.  Maxwell flinched back from it, cracking his head against the stone wall, not even caring about the pain.  The rough stone wall dug into his back, but he pressed himself against it as hard as he could, anything to get away from the hungry blaze that danced in Dorian’s hand.  He could feel the heat against his face, nearly painful.  Each frantic breath sucked hot, baking air into his lungs, suffocating.

The heat from mage fire had nearly choked him all those years ago.  He could almost feel the rough wood of the cupboard he’d hidden inside, the taste of ashes, the stench of crisp human meat –

The blaze glinted in Dorian’s eyes, in his smile.   **“FiiiIiiIIIiiiiiRe iS yOur pOisON, InqUiSitoR.”**

The blankets tangled around Maxwell’s feet as he kicked them off in panic.  He gasped for breath in the darkness of his tent, his eyes open wide.  

The sound of crackling fire wouldn’t leave his mind.

Maxwell sat up on his bedroll, struggling to slow his breathing.  He wasn’t smelling smoke.  He wasn’t baking in the inferno of an enraged mage.  He huffed out a shaking sob and rubbed a hand over his eyes.  There was no fire.  No fire.

… But there was a mage just one tent over.

The thought drew a panicked shudder from his body before he could suppress it.  Every time he shut his eyes, he could still see the fire blazing from Dorian’s fingertips, illuminating the man’s face and his smile.  

 _No.  Dorian won’t hurt me.  Dorian isn’t like that._ Maxwell took deep breaths, staring at the inside of his tent numbly.   _Dorian wouldn’t burn someone alive in front of kid, and then offer that kid a thirty second head start._

The cupboard had been roughly cut.  Maxwell had gotten splinters, but he hadn’t dared to move until the last of the embers had died.

Swallowing hurt.  With shaking hands, Maxwell pulled a shirt on over his head.  He undid the straps that held his tent shut and stepped out into the night.

The scrubland they were traveling through had cooled with the setting of the sun, the moon hanging low overhead.  Desert animals chirped and buzzed and hissed in the distance, but the camp was silent, aside from a few murmuring guards pulling night watch near the edge of the tents.  Maxwell closed his eyes and took another stab at breathing evenly, one slow lungful at a time.  A wind ruffled his hair, tossing it across his face.  He brushed the hair away and opened his eyes.  Better.  He could do this.

Maxwell braced himself and turned to the tent next to his own.  He approached the door and rapped sharply on one of the wooden support beams.

“Dorian!” he hissed against the canvas.  “Dorian, wake up!”

An unhappy groan drifted out through the canvas.  There was a rustling, and Maxwell stepped back from the door.  A moment later, the red canvas shuffled, the flap opened, and Dorian’s scowling face emerged.  He squinted in displeasure, his hair a mess.  

“Fasta Vass, this had better be a crisis of world-ending proportions – ”

“I’m scared of mage fire,” Maxwell interrupted in a rush.  He let out a shuddering breath as the words left his lips, rubbing a hand over his exhausted face.  “Maker… ”

Dorian blinked.  “ … You’re going to need to elaborate.”

Maxwell swallowed hard.  “I never saw a mage until I was fifteen,” he began.  “My first encounter wasn’t very… it wasn’t… ”  He shuffled his feet, rubbing a hand through his hair, and started again.  “I was visiting some extended family in the country.  There was a Circle nearby, and a mage got out.  A mage who wasn’t… happy… with the status quo.”  

The sleepy irritation had faded from Dorian’s face.  He stepped out of his tent properly, letting the flap fall shut behind him.  “Maxwell – ”

“He burned everyone there,” Maxwell interrupted.  He was afraid that if he didn’t say it now, all at once, he would lose the nerve.  “Some of them – some of them right in front of me.  I could see everything – ”  Even speaking of it made his stomach turn, and Maxwell shuddered.  He could almost feel the splinters.  

_I’ll give you a thirty second head start, spoiled bitch.  Then you burn like the rest of them._

“ … He let me run,” Maxwell choked out.  “He wanted to – wanted to chase me.  I hid, and he lost track of me because he found someone else to kill.  It’s the only reason I survived.”

“ … Fasta Vass.”  Dorian’s face had gone pale.  “I – I don’t know what to say.  That would give anyone a fear of fire.”

“It’s not simply fire.”  Shame pulled Maxwell’s eyes away from Dorian’s.  “It’s… mage fire.  Something about seeing a person create it – ”

“Inquisitor, I create fire in front of you all the time.”

“And I am terrified each time,” Maxwell confessed wearily.  

Dorian gestured desperately.  “You should have said something!  I have plenty of spells that don’t involve – ”

“We will need fire,” Maxwell interrupted.  A flash of his dream returned to him, a hungry roaring blaze, and he shuddered.  He forced himself to look Dorian in the eye.  “I dreamed about Envy again tonight.  He knows.  About _this._ ”

Dorian’s frown faded.  He cupped his chin in his hand, nodding.  “And if he means to mimic you, he must adapt your fear of mage fire as well.  Brilliant!  We know a weakness of his.”

“When we fight him, I’ll need your help.  I’ll need your fire.”  Maxwell set his shoulders, refusing to let a shudder pass through them.  “And I don’t want to be frightened of it.”

“ … I see.”  Dorian inclined his head towards the darkness that surrounded the camp.  “Let’s take a walk, shall we?”

—-

The camp was sheltered from the worst of the dry winds by tall cliffs of sand-sculpted red stone, riddled with paths.  Maxwell followed Dorian through the maze of sand and scrub and moonlit orange rock, up a narrow path, until they stood on a low cliff that overlooked the scrubland.  Thick rock shielded them from view of the camp, the full moon illuminating the landscape below.

“There we are.”  Seeming satisfied, Dorian took a seat on the sandy ground, crossing his legs.  “Shall we begin?”

Maxwell swallowed.  He sat down across from the mage, his heart hammering.  Wind gusted across the scrubland, ruffling his hair, washing the nervous heat from his face.

Dorian extended a hand, palm up.  “I’ll start very small.  Are you ready?”

Maxwell nodded.

A tiny flame winked into life on Dorian’s palm, no bigger than a candle.  Maxwell tensed, biting his tongue so he wouldn’t make a sound.

“How’s that treating you?” Dorian asked.

“I-I sure don’t _like_ it,” Maxwell spilled out.  He swallowed.  “But… it’s small.  Not so bad.”   _Not enough to burn a body._ Maxwell took a deep breath before continuing.  “G-go bigger.”

The flame in Dorian’s hand flickered and bloomed.  Maxwell’s whole body jolted as as the fire expanded into a crackling blaze.  He forced himself to hold still, to stare at the fire, his rapid breaths hissing through clenched teeth.

Dorian cursed under his breath.  “Fasta Vass, Inquisitor, you should have told me it was this bad.”

“I’ll g-get over it,” Maxwell ground out.  The fire was crackling, snapping at the air like a wild dog.  It was making him dizzy.  His pulse flickered in his neck so rapidly he could feel it.   _I’ll give you a thirty second head start, spoiled bitch.  Then you burn like the rest of them._

With another curse, Dorian flicked his hand, and the flame went out.  “Rest,” he ordered firmly.  “We’ll start again once you catch your breath.”

Maxwell glared, but couldn’t argue.  His entire body was shaking, his stomach turning and threatening to retch.  

“Stay with me, Inquisitor.”  Dorian’s voice was calm and even.  “No more fire for now.  You’re safe.”  He flicked his hand at the night sky.  “See?  Just wind and stars.”

Maxwell sucked in a lung full of air, holding it.  He tilted his face up to stare at the black expanse of stars and sky.   _Cool and dark and quiet._ He let his breath out slowly.

“ … How do you deal with the spells I cast in combat?”  Dorian was resting his chin in his hand, peering at Maxwell curiously.  “I don’t recall you falling into a shaking mess every time we run into a demon or Venatori.”

Maxwell dropped his gaze, staring at the sand between them.  “I just… fight through it.  Keep swinging, focus on the battle.  It usually hits me afterward, when things are quiet and I’m alone.”

Dorian let out a pained breath.  “You shouldn’t have to go through that alone.”

“It is silly to say I was embarrassed?”  Maxwell dragged his finger through the sand.  “It… breaks me.  It makes me feel weak.  I didn’t want people to see me like that.”

Dorian didn’t answer for a while.  When he did, his voice was soft.

“What happened to you… is that why you wanted to be a Templar?”

Maxwell lifted his gaze, blinking.  “I never said I wanted to be a Templar.”

Dorian snorted, adjusting his crossed legs.  “Yes, that’s why you stand outside in the cold and watch the Inquisition’s Templars training with such a look of childish wonder on your face.”

Maxwell’s cheeks heated.  He turned his eyes away and rubbed the back of his neck.

“ … Since I was a kid,” he admitted.  “Even before… you know.  But _especially_ after that.”  He shuffled on the sand.  “A Templar was the one who found me.  I wouldn’t come out of the cupboard until she promised me that the mage was dead, that she had seen his body with her own eyes.  I wanted to be just like her, stopping evil and saving kids.”

“Do you realize you’re doing that already?  Stopping evil and saving kids, I mean?  No Templar-y-ness required.”

Maxwell cracked a thin smile.  “I suppose you’re right.  It’s a nice thought.”  He straightened his spine and took a breath.  “All right, I’m ready for more.”

Dorian held his hand out, and a small blaze crackled to life.  Maxwell clenched his jaw but didn’t flinch, watching the flames dance across Dorian’s unharmed fingers.

“H-how does that work, exactly?” he blurted.  

Dorian cocked an eyebrow.  “You’re asking me how _magic_ works?  I don’t know if we have a spare month to cover everything I know.”

“Not all of it, just – how do you not burn _yourself_?”

“Oh, it’s quite simple.”  Dorian turned his hand over, letting the flames dance over his knuckles.  “In layman’s terms, I decide that it shouldn’t burn me, and the nice little fire listens.  You are aware that mages do not burn their allies in combat, yes?”

Maxwell swallowed.  He nodded stiffly.

“I will _never_ burn you,” Dorian promised.  The fire illuminated his face, his smile, but it was all soft.  “Not even by mistake.  My fire knows you, knows not to hurt you.”

Maxwell’s eyes darted from the fire up to Dorian’s face.  “ … Truly?”

“Truly.”  Dorian let the fire roam back to his palm.  “If I burned the ground beneath your feet – although I never would – you could prance through it as happily as if it were morning mist.”

Maxwell hesitated.  He stared at the fire in Dorian’s hand, glowing and crackling, tongues of hot flame stabbing at the night.  Slowly, he lifted one shaking hand and began to reach out.  He could feel the heat, strong as a camp fire, and he hesitated with a flinch.

“ … It’s okay.”  Dorian’s voice was gentle.  “You don’t have to do that yet.”

Maxwell clenched his jaw.  He shut his eyes and stuck his hand out, his entire body tensed for pain.

Warmth tickled his palm, soft and harmless.  Maxwell cracked his eyes open and had to bite his lip to keep from yanking his hand back.  The flames danced over his skin, bright and flickering, but they didn’t burn.

“Breathe,” Dorian instructed.  “You’re all right.”

Maxwell sucked in a gasp of air and exhaled just as quickly, staring at the flames that curled and flickered over his trembling hand.   _No pain.  No burning.  No stench of human meat._

“I-I never met a mage before the Inquisition,” he stammered.  Talking kept the memories at bay, helped him keep his hand in place.  “I-I mean, once or twice I saw a mage, but I never really spoke to one.  I never got to know one.  And even the mages I glimpsed were always part of a Circle.”

Dorian chuckled.  “This whole Inquisition thing must be dreadfully exotic for you.”

A shaky smile fought its way onto Maxwell’s face.  “I-it’s certainly been different.”  He licked his dry lips.  His hand was still shaking in the flames, but less than before.  “You’re… mages, I mean… you’re not what I thought you were.”

Dorian’s mustache twitched in a smile.  “Is this where you tell me that I’m not like other mages?”

Maxwell managed a laugh.  “Dorian, you’re not like other _people._ ”

“Well, I know _that.”_

The second laugh came more easily.  Maxwell flexed his hand in the fire, watching the flames dart between his fingers.  His stomach was still turning and his shoulders wouldn’t relax, but he could do this.

He would learn to do this.

“ … How are you holding up?” Dorian murmured.

Maxwell finally pulled his hand back, letting out a shuddering breath of relief.  His skin tingled with warmth, but nothing more.  “B-better.  I think we’ll need to do this often.”

Dorian smirked.  He flicked his hand and the fire went out.  “Stealing away together in the middle of the night.  What _will_ people say?”

Maxwell wrenched himself to his feet, extending a hand for Dorian.  “You’re looking forward to the torrid rumors, aren’t you?”

Dorian chuckled and gripped Maxwell’s hand.  “Oh, always.”

Maxwell pulled the man to his feet, and in a heartbeat Dorian’s face was so close that his breath was audible.  Maxwell froze there, his already-frantic heart skipping as the desert wind washed over them.  Dorian’s teasing smirk had faded.  The man made no effort to step away, to put more distance between their bodies.

It was so tempting to slide his hand around Dorian’s waist, to lean in and ask to kiss him.

Dorian’s lips were parted, and Maxwell could hear the man’s breath hitch.  Their hands were still clasped, fingers woven.  Dorian’s hand squeezed.

The same hand that had summoned a ravenous blaze just moments ago.

Maxwell stepped back suddenly, pulling his hand from Dorian’s grip.  “Th-thank you,” he spilled out quickly, turning his face away.  “I – I needed this.”

He couldn’t see Dorian’s face, but he could hear the tremor in the man’s voice.  “O-of course.”

“If you’re all right with it, I’d like to do this more.”

“Naturally.”

“And I’d appreciate if – ”

“My lips are sealed, Inquisitor.”

Maxwell nodded.  Thinking about Dorian’s lips made both desire and panic swell in his chest, so he quickly turned his feet towards camp.  “Thank you,” he mumbled again before walking briskly away down the narrow path, away from the stars and Dorian’s soft lips.

—-

Sleep came easier on the road.  After a day of hot, hard travel through the western Dales, Maxwell’s small cot felt better than his feather bed back in Skyhold ever could.  His head hit the pillow and the dreams swallowed him.

“He must believe that he has you,” Solas had said.  The elf had pulled Maxwell aside when he learned the plan, dragging him beneath a dry desert tree and holding his gaze.  “This is of utmost importance: _he must know you._ When he is confident that he can mimic you, then and only then will he assume your identity and behave as you behave.  Let him learn.   _Teach_ him how to be you.”

Maxwell endured the dreams with clenched teeth and cold sweats.   Each day brought them closer to Envy’s shrine.  Each night, the green mist was thicker as it curled through his dreams.

—-

The blood was slick under his boots.  One numb step at a time, Maxwell followed the splattered trail up the steps to Skyhold’s hall.  Each time his foot splashed in another scarlet puddle, a cloud of green mist whispered around his boots.

The grey sky was low and heavy, the air unnaturally warm.  Everything was tinted with a cold green.  The grounds held darkness and motionless shapes that Maxwell didn’t want to let his eyes settle on.  He focused on the stairs and followed the blood.

 _It’s not real._ Step.  Step.  Splat.  Step.   _It’s just Envy.  Find him.  Let him know you._

The heavy doors were open wide.  Maxwell ascended the last few stairs, his legs aching, staring into the darkness within.  

_Let him know you, so that you can kill him._

A sickly green light seeped through the stained glass windows at the far end of the hall, a distant glow.  Maxwell took the last step without breathing.  The familiar chamber was scattered with still forms, sagging over feast tables or limp on the cold floor.  In the center, silhouetted against the green light, stood a single upright figure.  A body slumped against his leg, his hand fisted in their hair.

Even if the lone person hadn’t been facing away, Maxwell would have recognized the broad-rimmed hat.  His knees felt weak as he crossed the threshold of the hall.

“ … Cole?”

Cole lifted his head.  He violently threw away the body in his grasp, and it tumbled across the floor towards Maxwell, landing with a heavy thump on the bloody stone.  The sick green light from the windows illuminated Varric’s face, the dull shine of a knife lodged in his neck.  Maxwell lurched away from the corpse, his stomach heaving.

“I’m solid,” Cole murmured.  His strained voice echoed through the silent chamber.  “Can’t move, can’t choose.  Chains and wire.  Please.”  His hand flicked, and sharp steel glinted in his grasp.  “Please stop me.”

Maxwell shook his head, his face pale.  He took another step back.  “No.  Th-this won’t ever happen to him.  Cole can’t be bound by a mage.”

Cole turned, his sad eyes meeting Maxwell’s.  “I am sorry.  I cannot – the chains are too strong.”  He strode slowly across the floor towards Maxwell, his feet smearing the blood.  There was nothing but defeat in his eyes.  “I need you to stop me.  Please.”

Queasy, Maxwell shook his head.  His legs shook as he backed up.  “What are you gaining from this, Envy?  This isn’t something that would ever happen!”

The knife shimmered dully in the light as Cole stepped over Varric’s body.  Maxwell cursed.

“Damn it, Envy!  What do you want?”

“I hurt them.  I hurt everyone.”  Cole’s voice was choked.  “Please, I don’t want to hurt you too – ”

“Envy – ”

“You promised you would kill me.  You _promised._ ”

Maxwell’s pulse raced.  Dead eyes glinted from the darkness of the hall as Cole approached.  “ _Cole – ”_

“Will you… will you keep your promise?”  A smile that should never have touched Cole’s face twisted across it.   **“WilL YoU sLIT mY PRetTy thROat, INquiSitOR?”**

Maxwell ducked out of the way as Cole’s knife lashed through the air.  Something jolting and strangled forced its way out of Cole’s mouth, ringing in the air like laughter.

**“WiLl yOU kiLl yoUr FriENds wHeN tHEy bEcoME mOnsTERs?”**

“That’s what you want to learn?”  Maxwell jumped back as Cole lashed out again.  “I _saved_ him from this!  I only kill people I can’t save!”

 **“ThEn Do iT.”** Cole tilted his head slowly to the side, his face split by a grin as he dragged the blunt edge of the knife across his own neck.   **“CaN’t sAVe mE nOw, INqUisiToR.”**

Maxwell’s jaw tightened.  “I’m not here to play your games, Envy!  This isn’t Cole and I’m not going to kill him for your entertainment!”

The grin melted from Cole’s face.  He looked at Maxwell in surprise, blinking.  A hand reached out of the darkness behind him, tenderly taking the knife from his hand and flipping it so the sharp edge was pressed under his jaw.

 **“If yOU wOn’T,”** rumbled the darkness, **“TheN I wiLl.”**

The darkness shifted.  A man stood behind Cole, broad shoulders silhouetted against the green light from the windows.  His shadowed face wore a familiar smile.

“It won’t be long now.”  Maxwell’s voice didn’t come from his own throat.  “I’ll take your place soon, _In-qui-si-tor_.  Your face is starting to _fit.”_

The man that stood behind Cole could have walked out of Maxwell’s mirror.  Maxwell swallowed, his heart hammering.

“You’ll never convince them that you’re me,” he swore.  “You’re nothing like me.”

Not-Maxwell turned his face away, his breath catching.  He swallowed, as though emotion choked his throat.  “Cole, I’m so sorry – ”

It sounded so _right_ that Maxwell flinched.  “Y-you’re not _me_!”

His reflection laughed.   **“NoT yEt.  BuT sOoOOoOoOooON, sO SoOn nOw.”** He chewed his lip slowly, his eyes locked onto Maxwell’s over Cole’s shoulder.   **“SHaLL I teLl yOu My pLaNs?  I waNT tO kNoW HoW tHEy MaKe yOU fEeL.”**

Maxwell tried to keep his eyes locked on the demon, tried to ignore the worried confusion in Cole’s eyes.  “I-it won’t matter what your plans are.  I’ll never let them come to pass.”

 **“YoU aRe nOT pROpErLy uSiNg yOur fRieNds, iNqUisiTOr.  I wiLl mAKe tHeM sO mUCh MOrE.”** Not-Maxwell brushed the knife sweetly along Cole’s jaw.   **“YoU hAve a SpiRiT LiKe mE iN yoUR rAnkS, aNd yOu hAVe nOT BOuNd hiM?  SHamE.  IMagiNE wHaT a gOod toOL hE woULd bE.”**

A sudden flash of fear crossed Cole’s face.  “Don’t make me hurt people.  I don’t want to hurt people, I’m not that.”

Maxwell shuddered.  “Y-you’ll make him a demon if you do that.”

 **“NoT jUsT aNy DEmoN.  My dEmON.  The iNqUisiTIOn’s dEMoN sLAvE.”** The knife pressed harder against Cole’s cheek, and a red glisten of blood bloomed under the blade.   **“BuT hiS peRSonALiTy iS MoRe iMpoRTaNt tO yOu tHAn hiS uTiLity?  InTEreStiNg.  I’lL rEMemBeR thAT.”**

Maxwell shut his mouth, his jaw clenched in rage.

Not-Maxwell cocked his head with a smile over Cole’s shoulder.   **“LeT’s sEe hOw yOU fEeL aBoUT My oTheR pLAns fOr tHe INqUisiTIon.”**

He flicked the knife away, grabbed Cole’s shoulder, and shoved the boy violently to his knees.  There was a burst of sour green smoke that choked Maxwell’s lungs and burned in his eyes.  He gagged.  When it cleared, dissolving into thin sickly wisps, Maxwell was staring down at a bound and kneeling Iron Bull.

“Don’t you fucking do this, Inquisitor!”  Bull’s massive chest was heaving, his face a snarl.  “I’ll rip your balls off!”

Maxwell’s heart hammered.  Bull’s panicked breathing echoed off the high walls of Skyhold’s hall.

“Wh-what are you doing?” Maxwell choked.

Not-Maxwell gave Bull a hungry look before his eyes flicked up again.   **“ThiS oNe WOuLd maKe aN eXcELLenT dEmoN pUpPeT, wOULdN’t He?  UsEfuL.”** He grabbed one of Bull’s horns, jerking Bull’s head roughly to the side and drawing a cringe from the bound Qunari.  Bull’s breathing was tight and rapid.

“Sh-shit, no, don’t do it – ”

**“ImAgiNe hOW mUch bETteR hE wOuLD bE iF He diDn’T hAve tHaT BoTheRSoMe miNd hoLDiNg HiM BacK.  We’lL sTUfF sOMethiNg iNSidE, soMetHiNg aS biG aNd BAd aS He iS, aNd tuRn hiM LOoSe.”**

Bull struggled against his bindings, trembling.  “Boss, _please!”_

“I th-thought you said you knew me!” Maxwell spat.  He couldn’t keep the tremor from his voice.   _It’s not really him.  It’s not Bull.  Bull is safe and asleep in his tent right now._ “I would _never_ do this, and if you think anyone would believe that – ”

 **“WhaT’S wROng?  DoES tHis upSEt yOU?”** Maxwell’s smile broadened above Bull’s bound and shaking body.   **“TeLL mE e V e R y t h i N g yOU feEL, InQUiSItOR.”**

“I don’t torture my friends!”

 **“NoT toRtuRE, InQuiSitoR.  JuST pROpeR uSe.”** Maxwell shoved Bull’s horn out of his hand dismissively, and Bull gasped for breath.   **“BuT nOT aLL oF yOUr FriENds aRe sO usEFuL.  SoMe aRE juST dANgeRouS, aREn’T thEy?”**

The green smoke bloomed around them once more.  Maxwell coughed, shutting his eyes against the sting.  When he opened them again, the mist was gone, and kneeling at his feet in place of Iron Bull was…

Maxwell’s stomach dropped.  His shaking legs staggered back.

Dorian knelt on the floor of Skyhold’s hall, arms bound behind his back like Bull’s had been.  He blinked up at Maxwell like he had no idea how he’d ended up on his knees.

“I-I don’t understand,” he choked out.  “I-I thought… ”

Standing behind him, Envy stroked his hand – Maxwell’s hand – over Dorian’s hair.   **“MagES aRe toO DAngERoUs To haVE rUNniNg aROunD LoOSe, aREn’T tHey?”**

Dorian’s eyes dropped from Maxwell’s face to his hand.  He flinched back, the color draining from his face.  “Y-you can’t do this,” he stammered, “please – ”

There was something clasped in Maxwell’s fist that hadn’t been there before.  He could feel rough iron warming against his palm.  Maxwell’s gaze drifted numbly from Dorian’s frightened face to the object in his hand.

It was a thin iron rod.  At the end of it, a brand glowed with heat: a twisting Chantry sun just small enough to be stamped onto a mage’s forehead.

 **“Go oN, HerALd oF AnDrASte.”** Not-Maxwell’s fingers suddenly twisted into Dorian’s hair, forcing the shaking man to hold still.   **“You ALwAys waNTeD So BaDLy tO Be a TeMpLAr.  StaRT aCTiNg liKe oNe.”**

Maxwell’s gaze jerked up to Envy’s face.  “N-no.  No.  This isn’t what Templars do – ”

“I’m not some animal you can muzzle!” Dorian snarled, his chest heaving.  “Y-you can’t do this to a _person_ – ”

Maxwell’s arm wouldn’t move.  He wanted more than anything to hurl the brand away, hear it clatter across Skyhold’s floor, but his arm was frozen by his side.  The steaming Chantry sun pointed at Dorian’s face, cherry-red from the fire.  Envy’s fingers – Maxwell’s fingers – held Dorian’s head in place with a tight fistful of his hair, keeping him from squirming away.

**“He iS a daNgERrRrr, InqUiSITor.  WhaT Do wE dO WiTh dANgeROuS mAgES?”**

“Tranquility is a last resort!” Max barked hotly.  His arm was trembling with effort, but he couldn’t drop the brand.  He bit his lip until it stung and he tasted blood but he couldn’t drop the brand.  “Dorian isn’t – he’s not a danger!  He’s in control of himself!”

His own voice laughed at him.   **“WhiCh iS iT, HerALd?  If MAgeS aRe nOT daNgeROuS, wHy Do yOu wANt tHeM tO LiVe iN CirCLes?   WhEn I sTEaL yOUr faCE aNd yoUR BoNEs anD yOuR LiFe, SHouLd I cLip yOUr MAge’S WiNgs, oR pUT a dEMoN iNsiDe hiM aNd LEt hiM BuRn thE coUnTRysiDe?”**

Maxwell’s chest heaved, the muscles in his arm burning, his fist aching on the iron rod.  Blood from his lip dripped down his chin.  His fingers screamed like a boot was grinding down on them, pain shooting up the bones of his arm.  A sob choked out between Maxwell’s clenched teeth as he tried to move, tried to do _anything._

Not-Maxwell yanked playfully on Dorian’s hair, drawing a whimper of pain from the mage.  Dorian’s eyes darted from the brand up to Maxwell’s face.

“M-Max, I’m begging you, _please_ – ”

**“Go oN, I’LL hoLD hiM StiLL fOr YOu.  Put hiM iN His pLAcE.”**

Maxwell was screaming into his pillow before he was awake, grabbing his own shaking arm with white knuckles.  His eyes snapped open and he gasped for air.  Splashes of green Fade fire burst from the mark on his palm as his entire arm trembled violently.  Maxwell stared into the painful brightness, not daring to close his eyes.

“Not real,” he mumbled to himself between choked, frantic breaths.  “Not real, not real, he’s fine, I didn’t do it… ”

The pounding ache in his arm began to fade, the green wisps dying.  Maxwell clenched his fist tight and shuddered.

“It wasn’t real… ”

The mark’s glow slowly dimmed.  Maxwell caught his breath in the darkness, his sweat cooling in the night air.  By the time the glow and the pain were gone, his breathing was even and his face was stone.

Maxwell stood up and opened up his tent, not bothering to put on a shirt.

The desert outside was dark and silent.  Maxwell found Dorian’s tent and rapped on the canvas.  Like clockwork, there was a sleepy groan, a muffled Tevinter curse, and the shuffling of a tired human body wrenching itself out of bed.  Moments later, Dorian was stepping outside.

“All right,” he mumbled, rubbing a hand over his sleepy face.  “Let’s go poke at your trauma, shall we?”

Maxwell grabbed Dorian’s shoulders, yanking the man close.  He cupped Dorian’s cheek as the mage blinked at him in surprise.

“I-Inquisitor?”

Maxwell stared, soaking in the sight of Dorian’s face, familiar and whole and safe.  Dorian’s hair was tousled with sleep, his eyes wide and startled, his cheek slightly flushed under Maxwell’s hand.

“You’re _perfect,_ ” Maxwell breathed.

Dorian swallowed.  “D-don’t I know it.  What’s going on, Inquisitor?”

“Nothing.”  Maxwell shook his head, letting go of Dorian and stepping back.  “Let’s go.  I want to push this further tonight.”

Dorian’s face was still flushed.  He looked away and cleared his throat loudly.  “D-don’t push yourself too hard.  We still have time before we arrive at Envy’s shrine.”

“Not much.”  The shudder had left Maxwell’s body, and for the first time in a long time, everything felt steady.  “I mean it, don’t hold back tonight.  I can take it.”

“Are you certain?”

“Completely certain.”  Maxwell gestured for Dorian to follow, turning towards the desert.  “I found something I hate more than fire.”

—-

The sun broke over the golden sands of the desert.  Maxwell stood on the precipice of a cliff with a cup of tea and watched it rise as the last of the cool morning wind whipped his hair.  The camp was slowly coming to life, people dragging themselves out of their tents and stretching in the morning light.

Maxwell didn’t turn as he heard footsteps approach.  He could smell campfires and cinnamon and knew that it was Dorian.

“Are you ready for the big day?” Dorian asked, stepping in beside Maxwell.  

Maxwell tipped up his mug and gulped down the last sip of his tea.  He sighed into the empty cup.  “I’m ready to get this over with.”

Dorian nodded.  “You’ve spoken to Solas, yes?  He’s told you to let Envy become you.”

“It’s the only way to make sure he adopts my fear of mage fire.”  Maxwell strapped his mug onto his belt with a sigh.  “I don’t like the plan, but I trust Solas when he talks about spirits.”

“Yes yes, all good and well, except that we’re going to have two Inquisitors running around until we kill the phony.”  Dorian let out a breath.  “Listen, Maxwell… I’d like to think that I would recognize you anywhere, but… ”  

Maxwell blinked in surprise as he felt Dorian’s hand close over his.  Dorian pressed something into Maxwell’s hand, something small and smooth.  

“ … I want to be sure.”

Maxwell looked down at the object in his hand.  A silver ring sat on his palm, looped into a leather cord.  Maxwell’s heart skipped for a moment before he realized what Dorian meant.

“Envy might mimic your face and your outfit, but he won’t have that ring.”  Dorian closed Maxwell’s fist over the ring again.  “Wear it.  I don’t want to mix the two of you up.”

Maxwell squeezed the ring in his hand, feeling the smooth metal press against his skin.  “But shouldn’t your fire know who I am?”

“My fire won’t burn my allies.”  Dorian’s face hardened.  “Which requires me to know who my allies are.  I won’t rely on that.  I won’t take that risk.”  He shoved Maxwell’s fist against his chest, his own hand wrapped around it.  “Wear the ring.”

Maxwell nodded, his heart thumping against Dorian’s fist.  

Dorian’s smile trembled slightly.  “A-and do try to come out of this alive, all right?”

His hand slipped off of Maxwell’s and he turned away, returning to the camp.  Maxwell watched him go with butterflies in his chest and a ring in his fist.

—-

Golden stone towered above them, wind-sculpted columns and canyons.  The hot desert sun beat down on them as Maxwell stood before the entrance to the shrine.  Behind him, Solas, Dorian, and Varric all shielded their eyes from the sun.

“Rather underwhelming,” Dorian scoffed.  

The entrance was little more than a hole in the sandstone, leading down a dark, twisting path.  

“Great, another cave.”  Varric scowled at the yawning darkness.  “Have I mentioned my passionate hatred for caves recently?”

Solas frowned.  “Yes.  You have.  It was earlier this morning.”

Maxwell shifted his shield on his back.  The weight of it reassured him.  “Come on,” he grunted, stepping towards the cave.  “Let’s finish this.”

—-

Dorian didn’t like this at all.

His boots scuffed over sandy wooden planks as they descended away from the desert heat and into the cool shadow of the cave.  Soon the only light came from the torch clasped in the Inquisitor’s hand.  The tunnel wormed and twisted, ever deeper, no more ceremonial than a miner’s shaft.  Dorian might have assumed it _was_ no more than a miner’s shaft if it weren’t for the awful itch of magic in the air.

The taste of it was old, stale, sour.  Dorian wrinkled his nose.  He’d felt plenty of different magics in his life, and he didn’t like the way this one was looking at him.  It felt old and neglected and impatient, and it tasted of the Fade.

“We’re getting close,” Solas announced.  He have felt the crawling itch in the air as well.  “Keep your wits about you.”

The Inquisitor’s thick fingers rapped against the hilt of his sword.  Agitation radiated off the man in waves.  “Good.  Everyone stay close.”

Dorian rolled his shoulders uncomfortably and gripped his staff tighter as he followed the Inquisitor down the twisting tunnels.

He didn’t like this at all.

—-

The tunnels branched and looped and dead-ended.  If it weren’t for the helpful markers that Leliana’s agents had placed at each fork, they would have spent all day trying to find their way to the shrine.

“Once again, I am underwhelmed,” Dorian announced as the tunnel opened up into a small chamber and the party stepped into it.

The shrine was walled in blocks of the same soft, crumbly sandstone that formed the desert canyons.  Fluted columns lined the walls, crested with worn sandstone carvings.  At the center of the room was an alter that had once been lavishly carved, now ground down by the ages into sad lumps of sandstone.  In some places, the stone was gilded with gold that peeled off in thin flakes.  Firelight from the Inquisitor’s torch flickered in the patches of metal.

“Sand plated in a thin veneer of value,” Solas mused as they entered the shrine.  “How fitting for a spirit that always yearns to be something better.”

“Goodie,” Varric grunted.  “Metaphors.”

They crossed the tiled floor towards the altar, following the steps of the Inquisitor.  The man glared at the altar as if considering driving his sword through it, then turned to Solas.

“You said you could summon Envy?”

Solas reached into the collar of his tunic and pulled out a length of blue silk.  “Some magic and an offering should do.”

Dorian wrinkled his nose.  “ … Solas, I do believe that is Enchanter Vivienne’s scarf you have.”

“Shit, it is,” Varric chuckled.  “She’s gonna kill you, Solas.”

Solas laid the scarf upon the weathered altar.  “How better to tempt a spirit of envy than with something coveted and stolen?”

“Oh, that scarf was ‘coveted?’” Varric teased.

“ … It is a very nice scarf.  I would appreciate if you didn’t tell the lady Enchanter where it disappeared to.”

“Oh no no no, I’m not covering your ass on this one, chuckles.”

Solas glared, but didn’t deign to respond.  He folded the scarf neatly on the shrine and stepped back.  “Inquisitor, are you ready?”

Maxwell wordlessly drew his sword.  

Solas nodded and extended a hand towards the altar.  “Prepare yourselves,” he began as magic hummed between his hand and the altar.  “We do not know what form it will – ”

The altar exploded into choking green mist that swallowed the room.  A sharp, cold wind sucked the desert heat from the air and blew out the flickering torch in Maxwell’s hand.  As the fire died, the room collapsed into blackness.

Words cut through the shadow as Dorian choked on the cold, twisting taste of the Fade.

**“CoMe oUt, cOMe OUt, InqUisiTOr!  TiMe tO giVE mE My pRiZe!”**

Dorian cursed and summoned a glow of pale light in his palm.  The green mist nearly suffocated it.  “Vishante Kaffas – _Inquisitor!_ ”

He could hear shouting and footsteps through the mist, but he couldn’t see more than an arm’s length ahead.  Somewhere, Varric cursed, a crossbow twanged, and a bolt dinged as it deflected off a shield.

“Varric, that was _me_!” the Inquisitor shouted.

From a completely different direction came new words in Maxwell’s voice.  “I see him!”

Footsteps pounded through the mist, and there was a clang of sword on sword.  Dorian blasted a hot beam of light through the mist, but the choking miasma ate the brightness like fog and left him blind, giving him only a brief flash of green-tinted sandstone.  He could hear Maxwell snarling.

“I’m going to _kill_ you, Envy!”

“Stop talking like you’re me!”

“Get back here and end this!”

“Inquisitor!”  Solas’ voice cut through the darkness.  “Don’t let him draw you out of the room!”

Neither Maxwell nor the demon seemed inclined to listen.  Dorian could hear footsteps echoing as if from all directions, growing fainter as if being swallowed up by a tunnel.

“Damn it, Inquistior!” Varric barked, his own footfalls receding.

“Fasta Vass – ”  Dorian gripped his staff and charged through the fog in what he desperately hoped was the direction of the footsteps.

—-

The green mist snaked through the tunnels as Dorian ran, curling around his legs and face in wisps.  By the time he was able to see further than the next five paces, the tunnels were silent and the footfalls were gone.  Varric and Solas were nowhere to be seen, and neither was the Inquisitor.  The only sights illuminated by the glow of Dorian’s magic were worn sandstone walls and weathered wooden boards, a film of green mist collecting in corners.

“Shit,” Dorian hissed under his breath, panting.  He closed his eyes and tried to feel for the nearest source of magic, but the tunnels were so choked with the aura of Envy’s shrine that it was impossible to detect anything.  He cursed again and continued down the tunnel.  “ _Shit._ ”

The caves were silent.  If Varric and Solas were also wandering in search of a man wearing the Inquisitor’s face, Dorian couldn’t hear them.  He kept his footfalls as quiet as he could, muting his breathing, keeping the light in his hand dim.  

His heart leapt into his throat when he heard the sound of footsteps and panting echoing down the tunnel.  

Dorian pressed himself against the sandstone wall just before a bend, his breathing tight.  The footsteps hesitated.  Dorian clenched his teeth and sprang around the corner just as Maxwell did the same.

“Dorian – ”  Maxwell let out a breath of relief and lowered his sword and shield.  There was a bruise on his cheek and a thin streak of blood on his sword.  “Thank the Maker – have you seen him?  He got away from me.”

“Perhaps I’m looking at him right now.”  Dorian kept his staff pointed at the Inquisitor, letting a crackling ball of lightning gather at the head.  “What do you think?”

Maxwell sheathed his sword and reached under his breastplate, yanking out a leather cord.  The silver ring glinted in the violet glow.

“It’s me,” he promised.

The electricity faded from Dorian’s staff, crackling into nothing, and Dorian straightened up.  “Good to see you, Max.”

“Likewise.”  Maxwell let the ring fall against his chest, and it dinged softly against his armor.  “Envy slipped away from me in the mist.  We need to – ”

“Dorian!”

Dorian spun around.  There, at the other end of the tunnel, stood the Inquisitor.  His sword was drawn, and there was a cut across his cheek.

“Dorian, he’s – ”

“Nice try, Envy.”  Dorian spun his staff.  “But I think – ”

“He took it from me!” the second Maxwell blurted.  He pointed his sword at the other Maxwell, panting.  “The ring you gave me, that’s why he has it!”

Dorian blinked.  His eyes darted to the Maxwell that stood by his side.  The man’s face was nothing but blank surprise.

“Wh-what?”

“That’s why he’s injured!  We fought and he – ”

“It’s true that we fought, but – ”

“Dorian, he knows why I had the ring!  He took it so he could pass as me!”  Maxwell’s jaw was tense, and he stared down his counterpart as if he could kill the man with his mind.  “If he had the ring from the start, how would I even know about it?”

“Because you dragged me into the Fade again!” Maxwell snarled.  “That’s how you found out!”

“You were the one who – ”  Maxwell cut himself off with a growl of frustration.  He strode forward, heavy footsteps thumping against the stone floor.  “No, I’m done with you.”

Maxwell lifted his shield.  “Good, come finish what you started at Therinfal Redoubt.”

Dorian held out his staff between the two men.  “Hold on!  No one kills _anyone_ until I know who’s who!  And you’re awfully eager to remove that decision, Maxwell number two.”

“You didn’t see what he did to you in my dreams,” Maxwell ground out.  His eyes burned as he advanced.  “I’m tired of him being _alive.”_

Dorian flung a bolt of frost at Maxwell’s feet.  The man staggered as his legs were frozen to the ground.  Without missing a beat, Dorian flung another spell at the other Maxwell, freezing him in place too.

“All right,” Dorian snapped, crossing his arms.  “Talk.  Convince me.”

Both Maxwells let out identical snarls of frustration and yanked at the ice binding their feet.  Finally, one of them let out a defeated huff and clasped his hand around the ring that hung from his neck.

“ … Then I guess that’s how this ends.  My life is in your hands, Dorian.”  He straightened his spine.  “There’s nothing I can say that he wouldn’t say.  I’ll just have to trust that you know somehow.  That you’d know me anywhere.”

“Dorian, it’s _me!_ ”

“See?  That’s exactly what a demon would say.”  Maxwell held his hands out.  “Would it really help if I said something like that?”

Maxwell bared his teeth and yanked against the ice.

Dorian’s eyes flicked from one warrior to the other.  Physically, they were identical in every way.  Dorian’s jaw tensed, his fingers rapping tensely against his staff.   _Something.  Anything.  Talk to me, Maxwell._

Both Maxwell’s had the same stony scowls on their faces as they glared at each other.  The same dark, shaggy hair, the same grey eyes, the same strong jaws dusted with stubble.  The only difference was the ring that one of them was rolling between his fingers.  He dropped his gaze abruptly and let out a tense breath.

“ … Dorian, if I don’t make it out of this,” he began, “I want you to know something.”

Maxwell’s jaw twitched.  “Sh-shut up.”

“Dorian, I – ”

“Shut up!”

“I always held back because you were a mage and I – I didn’t know how I felt,” Maxwell spilled out.  “I wish I had at least tried.  I should have tried, I should have made it work.For you, I… ”  He rolled the ring through his fingers.  “ … I would have braved any fires.”

The anger on Maxwell’s face melted suddenly.  He pulled back, wrinkling his nose.  “ … Oh dear.  You’re laying it on a bit thick, aren’t you?”

Maxwell scowled.  “I’m not speaking to _you,_ demon.”

“I mean, I’m a romantic, but I’m not _that_ sappy.  Do I sound that sappy?  ‘Braved any fires,’ my goodness.”

“ … Dear Maker, I _really_ can’t wait for you to die.”

“You were never as good at this as you thought you were.”  Maxwell rubbed a hand through his hair.  “I don’t know how I didn’t see it before.  You’re _bad_ at mimicking people.”

“I’m not _mimicking_ – ”

“Even when you were pretending to be Lord Seeker Lucien in Val Royeaux.  Did you know that Cassandra took one look at you and knew that something was wrong?”

Maxwell hesitated.  His jaw twitched.  “Th-that was because – ”

“You’re _bad_ at playing a convincing person, Envy _._ It’s why you’re so jealous of humans.  Envy thirsts for what it cannot have.”  Maxwell’s gaze darted to Dorian.  A brief smile touched his face.  “Here’s something Envy would never say: Envy is a terrible actor.”

**_“_ I’Ll bE BeTteR tHan yOu eVEr WEre!”**

The snarling words echoed through the tunnels.  As soon as they left his lips, Maxwell flinched back, his chest heaving.

The real Maxwell smirked.  “You don’t sound very convinced.”

The fear faded from Envy’s eyes, leaving something dead behind.  He yanked the ring off its leather cord and tossed it away.  It clattered across the stone floor.

 **“It MatTeRS nOT.  NeiTHer oF yOu WiLL LiVe tO teLL aNyoNE.”** He twisted his foot, and the solid ice shattered.   **“EVeRyONe wiLL beLieVE I aM tHe InqUiSitoR.  EVeN yoUR sWeET pET mAge coULdn’T teLL tHe difFeRenCE.”** Another sharp yank, and his other foot was free, shards of ice scattering across the stone floor. **“I wiLL BEcoMe yOu peRFeCtLy.”**

Dorian cursed and stepped towards the real Maxwell, casting a protective barrier over them both.  “ _Pet_ mage?  Excuse me?”

Maxwell yanked at his frozen feet.  “ _Dorian_!”

Two sharp cracks of lightning from Dorian’s hand sent the blocks of ice scattering in melting fragments.

“That proves nothing, by the way,” Dorian huffed.

Maxwell jumped in front of the mage, lifting his shield to protect them both.  “Cover me, I need an opening.”

Envy leered as he advanced, the tip of his sword scraping on the stone floor.   **“I doN’t liKE yOUr odDs, INqUisITor.  YoU DOn’t loOK LiKe yOu’VE beEn sLEepiNg veRy weLL.”**

“How will I tell you apart from him?” Dorian spun his staff and shot a ball of boiling thunder over Maxwell’s shield.  The demon lifted his own shield as he advanced, and the ball of energy exploded against it in a shower of sparks.

“Burn his boots off?” Maxwell suggested frantically.

Envy’s shield dropped just in time for Dorian’s next lightning ball to burst against it, saving his boots.  But the demon couldn’t lift his guard fast enough to stop Maxwell’s thrown shield from smashing into his face.

“Aim for the Maxwell with the broken nose!” the Inquisitor shouted as Envy cursed and shrieked in a language that rattled sickeningly off the walls, blood dripping from his nose.

**“YoUr FriENds WiLL diE sCReaMinG aND sOBbiNg, InQuisItOR!”**

Maxwell was already moving, his sword arcing towards the demon.  Envy lifted his shield and blocked the blow with a clang that sent sparks flying.  He snarled as one of Dorian’s magical bolts caught him in the leg.  On Maxwell’s next swing, they locked blades.  Envy kept his shield raised to fend off Dorian’s magical attacks, wincing under the blow of each bolt of lightning as it deflected off the shield with a humming reverberation.

“You failed, Envy!” Maxwell panted, arms shaking as he struggled to hold the sword bind.  “You couldn’t become me!”

Envy snarled through the blood dripping off his face.   **“YoU’Re wROnG!  YOu’rE WRoNg!  I’Ll bE peRFeCT!”**

Dorian reached deep into his remaining mana and felt heat ripple down his arms to his palms, burning there.  “Get ready to brave some fires, Inquisitor!” he shouted.  His hands moved, and the ground beneath Envy and Maxwell burst into roiling flame.

Envy _screamed._ It wasn’t the twisted demon scream that he had uttered before, but something sickeningly human and sickeningly _Maxwell._ Dorian’s stomach twisted, but he kept his hand extended, kept the flames crackling around the pair of men.  Through the glow of the fire, he could see Maxwell’s panicked face, dripping with the blood from his broken nose – and the real Maxwell’s face, pale and shining with sweat but fixed into determination.

The sword bind faltered.  Maxwell – _real_ Maxwell – slipped his sword off of Envy’s and swung it hard.

There was a thunk, and a head rolled into the fire.  Envy’s body slumped and buckled, falling into the flames after it.

Dorian slowly lowered his shaking hand, and the flames went out.  As the last crackles of fire faded, silence swallowed the tunnel, broken only by the panting of two exhausted men.  The ground beneath Maxwell’s feet was blackened with soot, but the man himself was untouched by the flame.  Dorian tried to focus on the sight.   _Don’t look at the head.  Don’t look at the head._

“Are you all right?” Dorian choked.

Maxwell exhaled heavily, managing a nod.  “It’s over.”  He sheathed his sword at his hip, his eyes sliding closed.  “He’s dead.  It’s over.”

 _Dead._ Dorian swallowed, wiping the sweat off his forehead.   _Don’t look at the head._

“Sh-shall we depart?” he suggested.

Maxwell strode out of the charred circle, finding his shield and picking it up.  He strapped it onto his back.  “Just a second.”

Dorian couldn’t hold back any more.  His eyes jumped to the severed head on the ground.

Maxwell’s terrified face stared back at him through splatters of blood and scorched hair.

Dorian twisted away from the sight and pressed a hand over his mouth, begging his stomach to settle.   _“_ Vishante Kaffas – ”

A solid hand came to rest on his shoulder, holding him steady.

“Dorian?”

“C-can we go stand in a room that _doesn’t_ have your decapitated body in it?” Dorian wheezed.

“I – of course, let’s go.”

Dorian let Maxwell’s strong hand lead him away from the scorch marks and blood stains and the headless body on the floor.

—-

The twisting tunnels proved a lot easier to navigate when they weren’t swirling with green smoke.  It wasn’t long before they found Varric around a corner, crossbow raised and loaded.

“Is it dead?” Varric growled, glaring at Maxwell and making no move to aim Bianca away from his chest.  “Is that the real Inquisitor?”

“Fasta Vass – ”  Dorian stepped between Maxwell and the crossbow.  “Put that blasted thing down, Varric.  Envy never learned to mimic _me,_ and I am quite certain this is the real Inquisitor.”

“How certain?” Varric grated, quietly shifting Bianca so that she was aimed over Dorian’s shoulder and straight at Maxwell’s head.

Dorian scowled, a barrier spell collecting in the palm of his hand.  “The other one had one of those nasty demon voices.  Bit of a giveaway.  Quit pointing that thing at me!”

Varric didn’t answer.  Finally, slowly, he lowered Bianca.  “I dunno, have you ever heard the Inquisitor singing in the bath?  Sounds pretty demonic to me.”

“Maker’s breath, Varric,” Maxwell grumbled.

Dorian crossed his arms.  “And how have _you_ heard him singing in the bath?  Is it scandalous and should I know about it?”

“Nah, half of Skyhold has heard him singing in the bath, the man belts it out.”

“Maker’s _breath,_ Varric!”

—-

A few twists of the tunnel later, Solas turned up.  By way of greeting, he met Maxwell’s eyes, squinted thoughtfully, and said “Nugs.”

Maxwell’s face turned red.  Solas nodded as if satisfied and fell in beside the party without further comment.

—-

The warmth of the sunlight washed away the shadows and the bitter reek of Fade magic.  Dorian sighed in relief as they stepped out of the foul cave and into the desert sun once more.

“Nothing quite like leaving a cave.”  Varric stretched, letting out a content sigh.  “You know, except for never entering a cave to begin with.”

“We should return to the nearest camp,” Solas pressed.  “I think it is best that we send a raven to Leliana at once.”

Dorian nodded.  Before he could take another step away from the cave, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

The Inquisitor cleared his throat.  “Solas, Varric, could we catch up to you?”

Varric chuckled to himself, shifting Bianca on his back without turning around or breaking his stride.  “Don’t take too long.”

Solas sighed and followed, leaving Dorian standing alone beside the cave with the Inquisitor.  The crunches of their footsteps in the sand were soon swallowed by the gusting desert wind.

Dorian turned to face the Inquisitor.  Maxwell shuffled his feet on the sand, nervously rolling a small object between his fingers.  The silver of Dorian’s ring flashed in the sunlight.

Dorian summoned up his flirtiest smirk and crossed his arms.  “Can I help you?”

“He wasn’t wrong,” Maxwell spilled out.  He swallowed, still rolling the ring over his gloved fingers.  “I mean, he was wrong about most of it, but… but not the part about you.”

“Do you mean the part where you… oh, what was it… held back because I’m a mage?”

Maxwell turned his face away.  “ … I really didn’t want him to be the one to tell you.”

“I didn’t mean it like – ”  Dorian sighed and softened his voice.  “ … I understand, is what I mean.  Why you held back.  With your past, it must have been – ”

“Can I kiss you?”

Dorian blinked.  He pulled back.  “U-um.  Come again?”

The Inquisitor was meeting his eyes now.  “I’d really like to kiss you.  If that’s all right.”

“Maxwell, you don’t have to prove anything – ”

Maxwell let out a soft groan and stepped close, slipping his hand around the back of Dorian’s head.  “I _really_ want to,” he breathed.

Dorian grabbed Maxwell’s face and pressed his lips against the man’s with a desperate moan.  He let out a shuddering breath and his eyes slid closed as Maxwell pulled him closer.  The kiss deepened for just a moment, a quick taste of need and heat, before Maxwell pulled back.

“Andraste’s breath… ” he panted softly, still holding Dorian’s face close.

Dorian bit his lip nervously.  “So… the whole mage thing… that’s not going to be a problem?”

“Dorian, you could set the bed on fire and I wouldn’t care,” Maxwell chuckled against Dorian’s lips.  He pulled back suddenly.  “ … That’s not a thing that happens, is it?”

“ … Set the _bed_ on fire?”Dorian smirked.  “My my, Inquisitor.  You move quickly.”

Maxwell’s face flushed.  “I-I just meant – ”

“Is there a reason you stopped kissing me?”

Maxwell’s brilliant smile came back and he leaned in for one more quick, deep kiss before pulling away.  “We should get back to Skyhold,” he pressed.  “As much as I’d like to stand here kissing you forever.”

“Yes, let’s get you into a proper bed.”

“Now who’s moving quickly?”

“So you can _sleep,_ Inquisitor.  A proper night of sleep.”

“I don’t believe you for an instant.”

Dorian chuckled and brushed past the Inquisitor, following the footprints of their companions through the sand.  Maxwell fell into stride beside him, finding Dorian’s hand and tangling their fingers together.

“So, uh… ”  Maxwell cleared his throat.  “‘Get ready to brave some fires?’  That was your battle cry of choice?”

“Rather wretched, I know.  It seemed fitting.”

“ … Dorian… ”

“Oh goodness, please don’t.”

“I would, you know.”

“Fasta Vass.”

“Seriously.”  Maxwell almost managed to keep a straight face.  “I would brave any fires – ”

“I liked your mouth better thirty seconds ago.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Any comments below will be lovingly forwarded to Wren, otherwise feel free to go tell her yourself over at wrenseroticlibrary.tumblr.com/ask  
> I'm at amatuskadanvhenan.tumblr.com if you'd like to come shout about how amazing Wren is with me.


End file.
